Текст книги "Wolf Hunt"

Автор книги: Armand Cabasson

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Margont was gripped by a sort of euphoria, which annoyed him since he liked to believe that the mind controlled the body. He had just understood why the young Austrian girl held such fascination for him. They had both been abandoned. They had fought their suffering and had succeeded in dominating it using sheer force of

will and their own philosophy of life. So Margont was a humanist because, in a way, he manifested towards other people the support and attention that he had found so cruelly lacking. Luise herself had constructed a nest, a cocoon, in which she lived happily with those she loved, and she had been ready to expend whatever energy was necessary in order to defend her little world, which Wilhelm and Relmyer also belonged to. And she had determinedly tried to keep them close to her. Margont and she shared the clearsightedness of those who have been hurt by life, and the pugnacity of those who refuse to succumb a second time. They had suffered the same wounds and recovered by suturing the wounds in practically the same way. From their first meeting each seemed to have divined the other’s scar, even before they had worked out what it was that attracted them to each other. Margont then realised that, contrary to what he would have expected, exposing the secret did not diminish in any way the feelings he had for Luise. Rather, the opposite was true. She seemed admirable to him, and he would have liked to forget everything else and lean towards her to kiss her. Luise blushed as if she read his thought, and she lowered her eyes. Margont in turn tried to guess what she was thinking. In vain. Relmyer spoke to them distractedly and Margont inwardly cursed him. Luise looked up at Margont again, her blue eyes sparkling.

‘You’re not as altruistic as I thought. You’re helping us for several reasons and one of those is your past. I’m happy about that for you. In life, it’s good to know how to be selfish.’

Had Lefine been there, he would have applauded. But he was systematically pillaging the buffet, swallowing quantities of canapes. Luise had arranged civilian clothes for him because his non-commissioned officer’s uniform would not have got him past the footmen. He joined people’s conversations, introducing himself as ‘an aide to Commissioner of War Papetin’. He took great care to make his lies as clumsy as possible so that soon people were asking each other about him, discreetly, behind his back. They suspected him of being one of Napoleon’s spies, the secret weapon of the Emperor, an ace up his sleeve. Perhaps he was that

genius of manipulation, that master of astounding exploits, the extraordinary Schulmeister himself! People said – was it true, false or a bit of both? – that in October 1805 he had persuaded General Mack to believe that Napoleon and his Grande Armée were withdrawing in disarray to put down a widespread rebellion in the Vendee, supported by an English landing at Boulogne. Reassured, Mack had delayed in joining the rest of the Austrian troops. When he realised his error, he had been unable to prevent his division from being surrounded. His punishment: twenty-five thousand Austrians captured in the town of Ulm. Yes, this person was almost certainly Schulmeister since he looked nothing like any of the portraits that rumour painted of the celebrated spy. It was even said that Napoleon, who had regular meetings with Schulmeister, did not recognise him when he was in disguise. The Austrian aristocrats blanched when Lefine went up to them, causing him to bite his lips in order not to laugh.

Relmyer hopped nervously from foot to foot. He hated the celebratory atmosphere. Obviously the magic of Viennese balls, which he had spoken of, failed to stir him tonight.

‘When on earth is she going to be here? The dirty scoundrel.’

He could not bear the wait. Margont realised that Relmyer was different from Luise and himself. Instead of relying on his strength of character, he fell back on his physical strength. He had trained ceaselessly, covering his body with a discreet but effective carapace of muscle and making his sabre into an extra limb. But at this moment physical strength was no help to him and impatience inflamed his anguish. He looked over at the punch the footmen in yellow livery were ladling out. After three or four glasses he would have felt so much better ... but the large crystal goblets of orange or yellow liquid were like wells in which he could not risk drowning.

‘I wonder if she’s in that other room,’ he said abruptly.

That sentence, peremptory and chilling, broke the rapport that had been established between Luise and Margont.

‘But I don’t see her,’ he added.

Luise was entangled in a web of emotions. Anger, fear, impotence,

despair, and disgust at her despair, all mixed together in a disturbing tangle. Paradoxically her face remained expressionless. ‘You’re never going to stop looking for the man, are you, Lukas?’ ‘No.’

Luise looked strained. ‘So we’ll be haunted by this affair for the rest of our lives! Suppose you never find him?’

Relmyer swung round, turning his back on them. His parting words were, ‘Why don’t you just enjoy yourselves! I’ll come and tell you when Madame Blanken is here.’

Luise went over to the buffet. She asked for some cold water, then, annoyed by the mannered slowness of the serving boy, changed her mind and left the full glass on the sparklingly white tablecloth. She glared at Margont, pretending to be offended.

‘Don’t you know that it’s not suitable for a young lady to be alone in the company of a man? If you don’t ask me to dance immediately, people will talk.’

Margont longed to accept the invitation but he was intimidated by the grace of the couples whirling about on the floor.

‘It doesn’t matter if you don’t know how to waltz,’ Luise assured him. ‘Let yourself be guided by me.’

That annoyed Margont. Ever since they had met, it had been like that.

Luise led him into the middle of the couples, to avoid being stared at. Margont rapidly felt befuddled by slight vertigo. He held Luise in his arms as everyone wheeled about them. The war was still so close. He had almost been killed at Essling and perhaps he would fall on the next battlefield. He could quite easily have only seven more days to live. He tried to forget about the investigation, the frenzy of past battles and the accumulating signs of the military cataclysm to come. The waltz with Luise represented a few stolen minutes away from the crazy chaos of the world. He accelerated the pace, staring at Luise’s cheerful face, allowing their motion to obliterate the rest of the universe. She smiled, showing glimpses of pearl-white teeth. The musicians also succumbed to the power of the music. The tempo took off, the conductor’s gestures became expansive – now he seemed to follow his baton’s lead. Then

the music stopped abruptly. The silence was like a slap. Clapping crackled throughout the gallery. There was some quick toing and froing, and changing of partners, but Margont did not let go of Luise.

‘Again!’ he exclaimed quietly.

A new waltz started up. They twirled about in a haze of colour from the outfits and light from the candles, infinitely reflected by the mirrors and the gold panelling. The charm of the moment was enhanced by Luise’s musky perfume. Margont imperceptibly tightened his grip on the young Austrian’s waist. Time and thought seemed suspended and they were oblivious to the people round them. It was as if they were united in a capsule of emotion, which rolled endlessly in the light.

The orchestra broke off. Margont was looking forward to the next dance, but alas such persistence was unacceptable and Madame Mitterburg had her eye on her daughter. She dispatched the first fellow who came to hand to dislodge Margont. The man halted in front of Luise to request her pleasure, his shoulder nudging

Margont’s, indicating he was prepared to use force to eject the over-tenacious Frenchman. He was a lank, almost skeletal Austrian, the son of a good family who were friends of the Mitter-burgs. He had served in the Viennese militia and had been careful to stay put when the French drew near to Vienna. Had he advanced, he would have been obliged to engage them in combat. Had he fallen back, he would have been obliged to join the Austrian army. So he had stayed where he was, allowing himself to be captured, whereupon Napoleon, wishing to propitiate the Viennese, had amnestied and freed all the militiamen on condition that they returned to their families.

Margont moved away.

He heard Luise say in astonishment to her new partner: ‘Dear me, the Austrian army seems to have forgotten you in their retreat! Of course, when you depart in a hurry, you only take the essentials with you.’

Margont melted into the crowd, which was conversing in several languages. He spotted Luise and then lost her again, thanks to the

movement of the dancing couples. The magic was broken, the music had become just music, and to add insult to injury the exertion had reawakened the pain in his side. That in turn brought back incoherent memories of the carnage at Essling. Instead of the harmonious melody of violins he now heard firing muskets and explosions, and instead of red dresses he saw blood.

Madame Mitterburg came to introduce herself. Her grey hair, lined face, the prominent veins in her hands and her husky voice all emphasised the great age difference between her and her daughter. Margont envied her for knowing so much about Luise.

‘Luise has told me a great deal about you,’ she stated.

Too much, in fact, she thought worriedly. She listened politely as Margont explained in German which regiment he served in.

But he hastened to assure her, ‘I’m only a soldier because we are at war. As soon as it’s all over ...’

He stumbled over the end of the sentence. What did ‘all’ signify? He no longer knew. Would the war be over one day? They had fought practically without a break since the Revolution, and even the brief periods of peace had tasted of gunpowder. It felt to him as if they had embarked on another hundred years’ war.

‘I mean, when there is finally peace, I will start a newspaper.’

The old lady listened politely, blinking from time to time. Because she said nothing it was difficult to tell what she was thinking. The word ‘newspaper’ always intoxicated Margont so he launched into a long explanation of his idea.

‘Words are an antidote to the boredom of everyday life and help change the world. Newspapers and books stimulate the mind. It doesn’t matter whether you agree with what you read or not, whether you laugh or cry, get angry or applaud. The only thing that matters is that we read something – anything at all! – that makes us react. And our reaction, our feelings, opinions and new ideas in turn make other things to discuss. They then feed the debate, they add to and propagate the range of the “chemical reaction”.’

He was talking too fast, his German was deserting him and, realising this, he hurried to draw his speech to a close, convinced that his interlocutor was no longer listening.

‘In short, I hope that my newspaper with its controversies and ideas will give the public something to read that will contribute to all the strands of thought that enliven and transform people’s lives.’

Madame Mitterburg blinked again but said nothing. There was the sort of silence that makes you rapidly run through in your head the gamut of small talk that could restart the conversation, something unremarkable. The silence stretched out. Madame Mitterburg was still looking at Margont. He wondered if she was simply trying to fathom what it was about him that so appealed to her daughter. ‘You must have a drink,’ she declared finally. ‘You’ve done so much dancing ...’

She turned towards the buffet and asked for a drink. So much dancing? That was a bit of an exaggeration – he had danced two waltzes with Luise. He began to understand how far removed Austrian high society felt itself to be from the universe he operated in. In their world everything was regulated by a multitude of rules, codes, precepts and obligations. The slightest transgression set in train a flood of reactions designed to correct the misdemeanour. Madame Mitterburg was merely keeping Margont away from her daughter with this now rather ridiculous chat.

In the meantime, an Austrian nobleman had replaced the gangly creature, and others followed afterwards. So Luise danced but she did not derive any pleasure from it. Her waltzing was now just the conscientious application of the steps she had learnt in many hours of practice.

Margont thought of Relmyer. His criticisms of the investigation into Franz’s death had ruffled society feathers. He had been told to keep quiet, but gagging him had only suppressed his words, not his feelings. This world defended its image and its privileges and considered scandal its worst enemy, the potential source of its destruction.

The waiter arrived with a crystal glass on a silver tray, and Margont had an impulse to send the whole lot flying.

Astonishingly, Madame Mitterburg seized the glass and said to him, ‘Luise has had a great deal of grief in her life. Think about

that.’

She put the glass in his hand, which she grasped tightly in both of hers. The crystal was freezing, her fingers burning.

‘If you ever make her suffer, I swear that I will pay someone to kill you like a dog.’

With that, she left, abandoning Margont to his lemon punch.

Saber, who loved to gossip, joined him. With his head held high, accentuating his proud bearing, his glittering gaze and supercilious air, he looked like a brilliant general who had had to borrow a uniform from his batman, his own having been stained in heroic battle.

‘Poor old Quentin, your beautiful Austrian has ditched you. Dance with someone else to make her jealous. It’s even more effective if you dance with her best friend. The waltz sums it up: if you want to seduce an Austrian, you have to make them turn round in circles.’

Saber’s words of wisdom ... Saber wanted Margont to introduce him to Relmyer but was too proud to ask. Margont decided to make him wait.

Jean-Quenin Brémond whirled past with a brunette in a white satin and silver lame dress. She was gazing at him adoringly. Saber was rooted to the spot.

‘Jean-Quenin’s done well! All the girls love “Herr Doktor”! I’m happy for him/

He had sai d th is last in the tone of‘I hope he drops dead!’ Even in matters of love, Saber went to war. His rivals were his enemies. He did not seduce, he executed manoeuvres. The heart of a beautiful girl was a bastion he set himself to assault, then abandon, broken under his heel. It was not the women who attracted him the most, nor the most seductive, that he paid court to, but the most unattainable. That way, he was able to boast about his ‘victories’. And he was undeniably charming; alas, his Adonis-like beauty was like a spider’s web.

‘Antoine is not very lively this evening.’

It was true; Piquebois held himself aloof, leaning against a column, daydreaming. Distractedly he followed some of the couples

with his eyes, but more because he was mesmerised by the movement than because he was interested in them.

The music stopped and Luise rushed over to Relmyer, who was becoming increasingly agitated. She dragged him off forcefully to dance a polka. Lefine, in his turn, went over to Margont, euphorically brandishing his glass.

‘Schnapps – waltz, vodka – polka, punch – mazurka!' He emptied his glass with one gulp and concluded: ‘Another pleasure snatched from the jaws of death.’

Luise smiled at Relmyer, exaggerating her joy to try to impart some to him. The polka, madly jolly, had the dancers leaping about. Officers and their beautiful partners jumped, turned and laughed. But Relmyer remained like an ice cube, detached from the warm ambience.

The polka came to an end and Relmyer immediately left the dance floor. Luise pretended to be out of breath to excuse herself from an officer of the artillery of the Imperial Horse Guard, in a dark blue pelisse edged with silver fur and dripping in gold braid. His voluminous rounded black fur bearskin transformed him into a colossus with an enormous head. He was extremely surprised as he watched the beautiful Austrian girl depart: the Imperial Guard was not in the habit of being defeated. Luise marched over to Margont.

Saber murmured hurriedly in his ear: ‘She’s coming! Talk to me, act as if you haven’t noticed her and behave as if she’s interrupting us.’

Act as if he had not noticed her? Margont had eyes for no one else. Luise spoke to him urgently.

‘I’m entrusting Lukas to you. I want you to keep an eye on him. Promise me now.’

‘In view of his duelling skill, it’s more a question of asking him to protect me.’

‘It’s already done. Now it’s your turn, promise!’

‘I promise you/

Luise held his eyes to seal the oath. Margont looked at her without letting his pleasure show. So she had made him promise to

protect Relmyer! Saber was horrified.

‘She’s giving you orders! And you’re going to obey? What will happen if women start to control everything?’

The entire world is at war, so things can’t get any worse than they already are,’ retorted Luise.

Relmyer erupted into their midst, cutting off their squabbling like a ball running into a game of skittles.

‘Madame Blanken is finally here, the alte Funzel, wicked, greedy old hag ... Let’s grab her straight away before she’s embroiled in meaningless small talk with everyone.’

CHAPTER 10

MADAME Blanken was nothing like the portrait that Relmyer had painted of her. He had said she was unfeeling. Yet when she saw Luise she smiled affectionately. Her smile faded, though, the moment she laid eyes on Relmyer. Luise curtsied to her. Margont imagined a line of little girls, including Luise, curtsying in unison as Madame Blanken passed down a long corridor.

‘Madame Blanken, please could you talk to Lukas for a few moments?’ implored Luise.

The old woman turned towards Margont, who introduced himself. ‘He’s a friend,’ explained Luise. ‘He’s helping us with our search ... Lukas and Captain Margont would like to go to the orphanage to question Wilhelm’s friends ...’

Madame Blanken’s face froze, giving her a steely look.

She said sternly, ‘If they come anywhere near the orphanage I shall have them both arrested. And rest assured I will succeed in that. Very easily, in fact. General Lariboisiere is staying with me ...’

She pointedly ignored Relmyer. He clenched his teeth, as stiff as a blade. Luise tried to think of an answer, but there was none.

‘Please let them. So that this saga can be settled as quickly as possible and so that we can finally be free of it! Allow Lukas to come, for pity’s sake, so that he can find whatever is there to be found, and even if he finds nothing, he will finally be able to rid himself of this business!’

Madame Blanken took her hand. ‘He’s already been. Didn’t he tell you?’

All three turned to look at Relmyer, who up until then had been ignored.

‘Why did you not tell us that you’ve already been to Lesdorf?’ fumed Margont.

‘It wasn’t important, and I didn’t find anything. It was just before the Battle of Essling. Wilhelm had disappeared, I was very worried about him. May I remind you, Madame, that I barely had time to talk to two or three people before you threw me out.’

Madame Blanken went over to Relmyer.

‘What cheek! How dare you complain about having been thrown out! After the scene you made? You forced your way into my orphanage, shoving the concierge and his son, you started shouting, demanding to see this or that person, you terrorised everyone by stomping furiously about the corridors ... If you behave like a fox in a henhouse, you can hardly be surprised if the next thing that happens is that the farmer appears with a gun! We had to call the imperial police to get rid of you! It’s lucky for you that Luise is so fond of you. It’s only because of her that I turned a blind eye. That time! But if you come near Lesdorf again, you or your hussars, I won’t be so lenient!’

‘Why don’t I come on my own?’ proposed Margont.

‘Same problem, same effect. You have to leave it to the police. It’s true that most of the police have fled Vienna, or have gone with the Austrian army. The few who remain already have enough to do keeping order, in accordance with your Napoleon’s instructions. But, as soon as the war is over, life will return to normal and the investigation can start again. Until then, unfortunately we can only

wait...’

Relmyerwas incensed.

‘Is that all? The man who murdered Franz has killed another orphan, and your idea is just to wait until the end of hostilities? As for the Austrian police, the most polite thing that can be said about them is that they are not known for their efficiency/

Madame Blanken stared at him contemptuously.

‘I suppose you have something better to suggest? You want to carry out your own investigation? You want to insult everyone and make a great hullabaloo! Where will that get you? Exactly nowhere! However, I do have something to show to you, and to Luise as well.’

She revealed a notebook that she was holding discreetly in her hand. Margont had noticed it a little earlier but had immediately forgotten about it. Now this little object had momentarily become the most important thing in the world.

‘I thought that Luise would invite you this evening and that you would take advantage of it to try to speak to me,’ she went on, still holding the notebook prisoner in her bony fingers. ‘Despite our disagreement, I would like to prove that you are wrong about me. I have always done my utmost to protect the young people in my care. As the police failed in their inquiry, I carried out my own, in my own way. And I was meticulous; in fact I am still investigating. If you had not left, Lukas, I would have let you know my initial conclusions. As I would have let you know, Luise, had you not broken off contact with me because you held me responsible for Lukas leaving. I drew up a list of all missing orphans, not just from Lesdorf but also from neighbouring orphanages. Then I tried to find out what had happened to all those young people. I wanted to follow up each case to learn if any of the disappearances was in fact a kidnapping, or worse. I counted only forty between 1803 and 1809. I couldn’t go back any earlier than 1803. After long investigation, either by me or financed by me, I was able to trace twenty-nine of them. I noted the names of those boys and girls, the dates of their disappearance, and when and where they finally reappeared, if they ever did.’

She held out the little book to Luise, who opened it, but Relmyer took it from her. The information was meticulously presented in neat scholarly handwriting. Madame Blanken was obviously happy to be able to prove her good faith. She smiled, confidently waiting for Luise and Relmyer to praise her efforts and apologise for having criticised her so often. But this was not at all what happened. Relmyer started as if struck by an invisible blow, and flared up. ‘What is this nonsense? How can you write that Mark Hasach served in the army? You write that he disappeared in December 1804 and that he was killed on 2 December 1805 at the Battle of Austerlitz, which he took part in as a soldier in the Infan-terieregiment 20 Wenzel Kaunitz. That’s impossible! I knew him: he was also at Lesdorf,’ he explained to Margont. ‘His mouth was in a terrible state, full of broken teeth. Now having bad teeth is one of the few things that prevent you joining the army, because you have to be able to tear open the canisters with your teeth in order to pour the gunpowder into the chamber of your rifle. In any case, he hated soldiers because the war killed his parents.’

Madame Blanken frowned. ‘I didn’t know any of that. What exactly are you getting at?’

Relmyer leafed rapidly through the notebook, turning the pages so fast that some of them tore.

‘And this one!’ he exclaimed. ‘Albert Lietz: disappeared in August 1805 and apparently died at the Battle of Austerlitz, in the Infan-terieregiment 29 Lindenau. I also knew him. I promise you it is impossible that he would ever join the army! Albert was the biggest coward you’ve ever met. When he was fifteen, he was afraid of boys who were twelve and he let them bully him. Do you remember, Luise? He cried at the least little thing. He ran away from anything that came near him. It’s unimaginable that he should become a soldier.’

‘That’s true,’ confirmed Luise.

‘A scaredy-cat in 1804 who transforms himself into a fighter in 1805? And here! Ernst Runkel. He disappeared in October 1805 and turns up dead at Austerlitz in the Infanterieregiment 23 Sals-burg! Ernst, a soldier! All that bigot dreamt of was becoming a

priest! He read the Bible all day long, he was in the choir, he bored us with his parables ...'

‘That’s also true,’ said Luise categorically.

This information is all false!’ concluded Relmyer. ‘So where are all these boys really?’

Madame Blanken stiffened. The muscles in her neck contracted visibly beneath the skin.

‘Lukas, you’ve taken leave of your senses! You’re so traumatised by what you went through that you see kidnappings everywhere! All that does is convince me that I’m right: we have to leave this to the police. They have the necessary skill and they, unlike you, won’t be blinded by emotion.’

‘Right, so you’re just going to abandon us all over again!’ retorted Relmyer.

Margont intervened, fearing that Madame Blanken was on the point of hitting Relmyer, or vice versa – their views of the world and of how the investigation should be carried out were like chalk and cheese. ‘Madame, where did you get your information?’ ‘From a friend, Oberstleutnant Mallis.’

‘May we talk to him?’

‘Why not? Just cross the Danube, ask for Infanterieregiment 59 Jordis and walk towards the enemy fire, you can’t miss him.’

‘Ah, I see ... Well, could we keep the notebook?’

‘I’ll give it to Luise on condition that she gives it back to me in a few weeks. I don’t want to lose it.’

‘And how was Lieutenant Colonel Mallis able to put together the information?’

‘At my request he consulted army records. The young people we take in have no family and no private means. When they run away to seek adventure, without any real plans, they quickly fall into poverty. So the army is often one of the only avenues open to them. Of the thirty boys I was able to trace, no less than ten had chosen the military. Eleven, in fact.’

‘Didn’t you say earlier that you were able to find only twenty-nine?’ queried Margont.

‘He’s the thirtieth,’ she replied, indicating Relmyer.

Relmyer was scarlet with rage. In a way, he was the living proof that there was no need to worry when a teenage boy disappeared; sooner or later, he would resurface. So his very presence gave the lie to his argument and this maddened him.

‘Poor M all is spent an enormous amount of time studying the lists of effective forces looking for all those names,’ explained Madame Blanken. ‘All those papers and ...’

Relmyer stormed off and Luise followed him in silence. She was frightened without knowing exactly what it was she feared.

Margont thanked Madame Blanken before going over to join Relmyer. He was hunched over the notebook, drinking in the pages.

‘Harald Tyler! He disappeared before me, in January 1803. H^{e was} found dead at Austerlitz, in the Infanterieregiment 9 Czartoryski! Another one! Austerlitz is being blamed for all these disappearances!’ He skimmed the notebook faster and faster. ‘According to this notebook, five of the missing boys whose names were in army records were killed at Austerlitz. The fifth was one Karl

Fahne, of the Viennese Volunteer Chasseurs. Five deaths at Austerlitz? That’s a lot.’

‘But there were lots of Austrian casualties at Austerlitz,’ said Luise. ‘Even so, it’s an astonishingly high count,’ Margont put in. ‘It’s half of the boys who supposedly chose a military career. Yet at the Battle of Austerlitz, the Austrian army lost only about five per cent of its forces.’

Relmyer continued going through the names.

‘And here! Ferdinand Rezinski! Disappeared in July 1803 and died at the Battle of Elchingen in October 1805. And this one, Georg Knesch, disappeared in January 1807 and died in training in May 1807, in the Infanterieregiment 49 Baron Kerpen. So actually of the ten boys who were said to become soldiers, seven are dead! Including Mark, Albert and Ernst! Now I would be prepared to swear on Christ that nothing would ever induce those three to choose to go into the army.’

Then someone must have falsified the army’s records,’ concluded Margont. ‘Perhaps some of these young men did actually die at

Austerlitz. But it would be easy to add a name to a long list of deaths on the battlefield, to make a disappearance look like a casualty of war. And they were all, like Franz and Wilhelm, orphaned youngsters. I think we’re talking about the same murderer. We’re looking for someone who preys on boys, like a vulture: he thrives on dead bodies. It’s thanks to the war that he has been able to find so many victims without people noticing. He must be delighted each time a new conflict breaks out; he must want there to be continual war. Perhaps he’s one of those warmongers. I could well imagine that he might encourage war by rousing up bellicose minds, in order to satisfy his inclinations. He can then cover his tracks by burying the bodies in communal graves. Look, we won’t even be able to tell the difference between the deaths he’s responsible for and deaths incurred in the fighting.’

‘Apart from Mark, Albert and Ernst,’ insisted Relmyer.

‘If you add Franz and Wilhelm, that’s already five victims. More, in fact, because he must have struck in different orphanages to avoid drawing attention to what he was doing. One of the “Austerlitz deaths” this Karl Fahne, was from Baumen Orphanage, and the boy who died in training and the one who died at Elchingen were from Granz orphanage.’

It was far worse than Margont had imagined. It was so appalling, he could barely take it in. He had been too confident when he had let himself become involved. Now he found himself on the edge of an abyss, and the view was giving him vertigo. He needed words, reason, logic. He would have to analyse the situation all over again, in the same way that Jean-Quenin Brémond, shaken by being unable to make a diagnosis, would perform an autopsy on the body of a patient with an unknown illness.